Only Human

The little dog was whimpering as I continued to empty my bedroom and load Elsa. She was so upset that she was shaking. She was trying frantically to get on to my lap. She's only a puppy really. Her mother looked on with sad eyes. They know! I relented and let her climb onto my lap where she curled up and pretended to sleep. I tried to put her down which started her whimpering. Please don't do this Lizzy. Your putting a lump in my throat. As I insisted on continuing my preperations the dogs took themselves off to their bed. To my human eyes what they seem to be reacting to is rejection. I'm leaving therefore I don't like them any more. Is that right? Dogs have that much?

Stephan got up early to catch me before this difficult departure. As I left Fagerhult along the highway with views of mighty Vattern iluminated with bright summer sunshine, the lake has never looked so impressive. Just a glimpse she gives me of what I will be missing. My leaving is reluctant but I have business in the UK to attend to. I will buy the summer house here, but that is 8 months away. I suspect I will return for a flying visit before then. People to see.

My journey today is one of those iron britches occasions. South all the way to Malmo and the 17 mile bridge to Copenhagen, remembering to fill my tank for Swedish cash expensive to convert into £s. Lunch also with the last remaining Kronor. The afternoon takes care of Zealand and Funen, finally crossing the causeway onto Jutland. Turn right (it sounds so easy) and head north to Henrik, Anne and family fir the last weekend of this trip. Once into Denmark I have further trouble with bank cards and petrol pumps. I started trying to refuel at half a tank which would get me to my destination. Second attempt I got a tankful and pressed on. How to eat an Elephant? You do it one plateful at a time.

One thing that put a wry smile on my face was that somewhere along the road I seem to have become a Dane! At least to those I make transactions with. I speak Swedish with an accent no surprise, but an Englishman doing it is unexpected. Brits out here are rarer than hens teeth. On two occasions when they went conversational I had to put my hand up and switch to English. I was shocked that that was a shock, but there you go. The one young guy's mouth dropped open "holy shit, you're English!". "I am". He thought I was a Dane. They get by fine in Swedish. It happened in the shop in Fagerhult as well for the same reasons.

Arrival at Henrik's place never disappoints. The house seems to cry "home" from a distance of two miles out (UK). It was a shame that our planned Saturday out on the bikes was rained off, like so much more of this dreadful summers events. Good company and a warm house, so no complaints. It was a nice visit.

I have had enough of getting a soaking though.